


everything i do

by sleepdrunk



Series: Thank you for my pornography! [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Blanket Permission, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-10 23:31:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20536442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepdrunk/pseuds/sleepdrunk
Summary: “Are you sore?”Not expecting the voice, he inhales sharply through his nose. There’s a black silk necktie covering his eyes, and he’s been focusing on the sensations that he can feel-- the cool air over his skin. The feel of his own thumbs resting on the cleft of his naked ass. The rough fabric against his chest.





	everything i do

Crowley’s hands are tied. No, not tied-- it’s a little more intricate than that-- and suddenly he wants to see Aziraphale’s handiwork _so _badly. 

He rolls his shoulders experimentally. There’s just enough give to the knots that he doesn’t feel panic. He just feels _held._

He wiggles, easing a kink in his shoulders.

_“Are you sore?”_

Not expecting the voice, he inhales sharply through his nose. There’s a black silk necktie covering his eyes, and he’s been focusing on the sensations that he can feel-- the cool air over his skin. The feel of his own thumbs resting on the cleft of his naked ass. The rough fabric against his chest. 

Aziraphale chuckles. His voice is lower somehow. Gruff. Crowley can hear him smile. 

“Did I startle you,” he asks, sounding just this side of pleased. 

“A bit, but it’s fine,” is what Crowley means to say. It comes out muffled, but clear enough all the same. 

Another laugh, as though Aziraphale can’t quite trust his voice. “I’m going to touch you now, alright?”

Crowley nods. He can feel his face heating, and he appreciates the illusion of privacy that the blindfold gives him, and nestles into the rough sofa-back, evening out his breath. 

There’s a _swish_ of fabric as Aziraphale steps forward and fills the space between them, and presses up against Crowley’s bare skin at his hip. His body is warm underneath his clothes-- a silk dress shirt. A leather belt and cold metal buckle, then slacks. He can never keep the excitement from his breath-- and certainly not as he bends over the length of Crowley’s body and his nose brushes his skin as far as he can reach-- just over his spine between his shoulders. His warm, calloused hand slides down Crowley’s bound forearm and comes to rest on his bare asscheek, while his mouth lays reverent kisses to his back. He squeezes, giving the flesh a gentle shake; grunting quietly in appreciation.

“Move forward a little please”.

He’d almost forgotten about the four inch heels he had on, but as Aziraphale guides him forward to rest more of his weight on the sofa rather than the floor, he can feel the strain easing out of his calves. Aziraphale stands and his hand moves down the length of Crowley’s back; over the ropes and over Crowley’s hands and over them, then down between his cheeks. He cups his balls gently and strokes him, slowly. 

“Is that better, Crowley,” he asks. His tone is far too calm for someone doing what he’s doing to Crowley at this moment. “Ah-ah…” he says in a light reprimand when Crowley tries to buck into his grip. “I have a lot planned for tonight.” His hand disappeared and he stepped back. 

Aziraphale spends his time. He starts by stroking the skin; massaging it. He warms Crowley, from his ankles, kissing the bone there, the line where the straps hold in his feet. They feel strange there, like they elongate him in odd ways-- but right. _Sexy._ Like they accentuate him in all the right ways. 

Or at least, that’s what Aziraphale keeps telling him. Over and over again; like a prayer. 

All the way up his legs, rubbing. Pressing his fingers in, relaxing the muscle where it’s strained. Licking. Nipping. 

Up to his bound hands, suckling his fingers. 

Then, Aziraphale tells him; “I’m going to start spanking you. Just a little bit, okay?”

“Okay.” It comes out in a breath, through a smile; eyes closed.

He starts in a rhythm, keeps it steady. He builds the intensity slowly, keeping that beat. 

One-- mild. Two-- a little harder.

_Three. _

It stings, just a little bit. Almost not enough. 

But it’s so, _so _good. 


End file.
